


Stay is a Sensitive Word

by graceless_wolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, fallen!cas, human!Cas, spn_reversebang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceless_wolf/pseuds/graceless_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being human, Castiel discovers, involves dreaming.</p>
<p>(Also known as the one with the Greek myth reference)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay is a Sensitive Word

Being human, Castiel discovers, involves dreaming.

 

 

In his dreams, Dean is just a head. So is he, but his own disembodiment isn’t as high on his list of concerns as Dean’s is. They’re levitating, staring blankly at each other while the quiet sound of blood dripping to the floor seems to roar in Castiel’s ears like a sick melody. He wants to cover his ears to blot out the noise, but his hands are in some unknowable plane, and he is forced to listen to it.

 

 

\--

 

 

Every night for three weeks, Castiel endures his nightmares quietly. When it becomes too much, too difficult to ignore the white noise of loss and guilt, he calls one of the few people who will understand. He calls Sam.

 

 

Sam is not Sam. Castiel knows this, but hopes that Ezekiel will have enough sense to stay out of his problems and let Sam have the foreground.

 

 

“Cas?” Sam’s voice says on the other end of the line.

 

 

“Hello, Sam.” He begins, “I – um. I’ve been having an issue, and I think you might be able to help me.”

 

 

“I mean,” Sam says, sounding a little nervous, “I can try, but it really depends on the issue. Is it a case? Do you need us up there? I’m sure Dean wouldn’t mind helping. Why didn’t you call him? I can put himon the phone if you’d like.”

 

 

Castiel purses his lips. He can feel the crease forming between his eyebrows. “I think it would be best if this stayed between the two of us, actually.”

 

 

Sam’s silence conveys his mild shock as well as anything, but he pulls himself together soon enough. “Right, uh—right, okay, so, what exactly is your problem here, Cas?”

 

 

“How much significance do humans place on dreams?”

 

 

“Well, I mean,” Sam says thoughtfully, “I guess it depends on the human. A lot of people think that dreams do mean something, though.”

 

 

“Do you?”

 

 

There’s a short silence and a quiet sigh from the other end of the line.

 

 

“Listen, Cas, what exactly is your problem here?” Sam asks. He sounds tired in a way Castiel hasn’t heard in a while. Sam sounds tired like he’s just barely hanging on. All safety pins and duct tape and Cas wants to ask Ezekiel what’s going on inside of Sam, why he isn’t healed yet.

 

 

“I’ve been having a—” Cas searches for the right word. “—recurring dream. I’d like to know if it has any significance.”

 

 

He knows it does. He has had many dreams about Dean Winchester, some more pleasant than others, but never have they happened more than once. This dream, where they are both headless, where Cas feels a twisting and churning in a gut he no longer has, it has to mean something.

 

 

“It sounds like you already know if it does or not, Castiel,” Sam says. His voice is soft, concerned, and Cas is struck with a fondness for the younger Winchester. For having gone through so much, Sam is always just as caring and considerate, no matter the cost. “You should come back to the bunker.”

 

 

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Sam.”

 

 

“Listen, I don’t know what Dean was thinking when he kicked you out, but it’s likely he was being a good old fashioned Winchester and running as far away from his feelings as possible. Ever since you left he’s been moping. There is literally no better word for it. It’s actually pretty sad.” Sam is persistent now, but he’s telling the truth. Cas’ heart aches at that. He wants Dean to be happy, wants Dean to have the contentedness he always deserved. Castiel thought leaving would give Dean that.

 

 

He gets an awful sort of pleasure from learning that isn’t so.

 

 

“Sam, I—,” he starts.

 

 

“I know my opinion doesn’t mean that much to you, Castiel. It’s a pretty messed up thing we’ve got going here, and we’ve lost a lot of people, but we’re a family, and you’re a part of it.

You always have been. We need you back, Cas. Dean needs you here. It’s up to him whether he’s going to tell you thatfor himself or not.”

 

 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

 

The line goes dead, but for the first time in a while, Castiel feels like he’s finally making the right choice, like he might actually be getting the hang of these human emotions.

 

 

\--

 

 

The bunker is almost exactly as it was when Castiel was here for the first time. He thinks it just must be his nerves making the ceiling seem so much higher, the walls so spread out. The Men of Letters bunker seems too big for him, or maybe he is simply too small for it.

 

 

Castiel feels like he is too small for a lot of things these days.

 

 

Human clothes never fit him correctly. The pants are always too long or too short or too loose, and the shirts lift up when he reaches too high. Denim is very constricting. He thinks it might just be because his skin is feeling too much, too many new sensations. He agrees with that, at the least.

 

 

Sam meets him at the entrance of the bunker, and Cas can see it. He spent too long studying Jimmy in mirrors, trying to identify himself within his vessel (It is his body, now. Jimmy has long since passed on.). But he can see it in Sam. The awkward fumbling of new limbs paired strangely with the grace of an angel. Sam smiles warmly, and there is no Ezekiel in that.

 

 

“Sam,” Castiel greets him, smiling quietly, “How are you?”

 

 

Sam stiffens slightly, pushing his chest out a little. He’s posturing, and though Cas is sure it works on Dean, it will not on him. He knows both Winchesters far too well.

 

 

“I’m good, Cas. Doing fine. Trials were a bitch, though." Sam tacks the last part on cautiously with a nervous laugh, like he’s not sure if he should.

 

 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “the trials were a, yes; they were a bitch, weren’t they?”

 

 

Sam laughs, for real this time, clasping Castiel on the shoulder. “God, it’s good to see you again, Castiel.”

 

 

They chat aimlessly as Sam leads Cas on a short tour of the bunker, showing him the places he hadn’t seen when he was here for the first time. They’re admiring the books in the library and debating the merits of Siken and Cummings when Dean walks in.

 

 

“Richard Siken understands human emotions,” Cas says thoughtfully. “He gives the most realistic view of love that I’ve ever read.”

 

 

“Okay, Cas, I’ll give you that one, but the way Cummings uses metaphors? Got Siken there.” Sam laughs, smiling fondly at the books propped open on the table.

 

 

“Cas?”

 

 

Castiel’s body stops.

 

 

He remembers after a long pause that he needs to breathe and sucks in a long breath before turning towards the painfully familiar voice.

 

 

“Hello Dean,” he says softly. It sounds different this time. Human voices are too easily manipulated by emotions.

 

 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean responds out of habit. He shakes his head a little, before turning to Sam.

 

 

“Sam, you—,” Dean pauses, steadying himself with a breath. He fixes Sam with a purposeful look, like he’s trying to look past Sam and at someone else and—oh, “You’re okay with Cas being here?”

 

 

That question clicks everything into place for Castiel. It was Ezekiel. Ezekiel, who was possessing Sam, but judging by the looks of him, couldn’t possibly be healing him. Ezekiel, who convinced Dean he was doing the right thing for his brother. Ezekiel, who knew Cas would figure it out, he knew these boys too well. Ezekiel, who told Dean that Cas couldn’t stay.

 

 

There was a funny feeling blooming in his chest, like the pain was still there, but it wasn’t directed at Dean anymore. It was just there, waiting for something else to be too much. It was easy to push it to theback and think of other things. If he were still an angel, that would have been the end of it. But he was still thinking about it, maybe not as strongly, but still. It was like the pain had shifted, the loss taking a different form so it could share its home with guilt and live next door to forgiveness. There was anger, too, anger at an angel who he had once called brother, but was only hurting his real family.

 

 

When he was still an angel, Castiel didn’t realize how strongly, how much humans could feel.

 

 

“Of course I am,” says Sam, snapping Castiel back to the library, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

 

Dean hesitates, but nods. He looks back at Cas, but avoids his eyes. It’s alright, though, because if he were in Dean’s shoes, Castiel knows he would do the same.

 

 

“Sam,” Castiel asks. “Would it be alright if Dean and I spoke in private? We can discuss my, my issue more tomorrow. It’s getting late anyways.”

 

 

Sam nods sympathetically, getting up to leave. “Of course, I, uh—I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel. I mean not that you two are—but you are kind of—you might as well be—I’m just gonna go.” He motions wildly to the door with his hands, and Castiel has to fight the urge to smile.

 

 

“Of course, Sam.”

 

 

“See you two guys later,” Sam says, moving awkwardly out of the library.

 

 

As soon as the door closes, Castiel and Dean open their mouths at the same time.

 

 

“You first,” Dean says.

 

 

“No, it’s alright,” Cas obliges, “What were you going to say?”

 

 

“Uh, how about we go at the same time?” Dean suggests.

 

 

Cas narrows his eyes in confusion, but nods all the same. “Alright.”

 

 

Dean nods, “Okay, one, two, three,” and says “What are you doing back here? It’s not safe,” at the same time Castiel says, “When are you going to tell Sam he’s being possessed by an angel?”

 

 

They both stare at each other, Cas in confusion, and Dean gaping.

 

 

“How do you know about that?” Dean says.

 

 

“I was an angel. I know what a vessel looks like. I may be many things, Dean Winchester, but I am not stupid.”

 

 

“No, look, okay, I never said,” Dean stumbles.

 

 

“Ezekiel didn’t want me here.”

 

 

Dean shrugs a little helplessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, no he didn’t.”

 

 

“But you do.” Castiel presses. He needs to know, he needs to have this one thing.

 

 

“I—yeah, Cas, I want you here. I wish you didn’t have to leave. I wish—god, things are really complicated right now, man. I’m sorry about kickin’ you out before,” Dean says.

 

 

“It’s alright, Dean. I understand why you did what you did,” Castiel says. He steps closer (personal space be damned) and rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean doesn’t say anything about personal space, about Cas being too close. Cas doesn’t say anything about the enormity of the inches between them, about the feeling in the very back of his mind screaming out “home.”

 

 

“You know,” Castiel says, sliding his hand down a fraction of Dean’s bicep, “this is where my mark on you used to be.”

 

 

There’s a tint of amusement in his voice, but Dean is silent, eyes boring intently into Castiel’s face.

 

 

“So much has changed since then,” Castiel continues softly. The smile slips from his face as he glances up at Dean. “I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, Dean. When I was—back then, I thought I was in the right. I thought if I did what I was doing, I could save everyone, save you. But I was foolish, blinded by my own pride. All I ever did was hurt you. If I could take it all back, I would. If I hadknown how strongly humans felt, how strongly you felt hurt and betrayal, then I would do anything to ease that pain. But I can’t. I am so sorry.”

 

 

Dean’s eyes are wide, watching Castiel like he’s afraid Cas is going to suddenly disappear in a flash of light. Castiel studies Dean’s face for a second more before moving back a half-step, and pulling his hand back into his own space.

 

 

He doesn’t notice Dean’s hand until it’s gently wrapped around his wrist.

 

 

“Cas,” Dean says, and his voice is hoarser than usual, “We—I’ve done some stupid things. Trust me, some really stupid things. And I regret them every day. But don’t you ever for a second think that I ever regret trusting you. You’re a pretty shitty guardian angel, Cas; I’ll give you that. But you’re a damned good person, and an even better friend.”

 

 

There’s a moment where they just stand there, wrapped up in trying to figure out what the other is thinking. There is something being said here that is not being spoken and Castiel knows he should be able to figure it out. Instead, he zooms in on the color of Dean’s eyes, the freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. He focuses on the intensity of Dean’s gaze, trying to read the message there.

 

 

Castiel is the one to break the silence, saying, “I’m glad I came back.”

 

 

Dean nods, letting go of Castiel’s wrist and taking a step back to lean against the table closest to him, “It’s good to have you home, Cas.”

 

 

Castiel’s eyes widen slightly. He doesn’t know if Dean knew what he said, but he knows that it’s the truth. It’s one of the few truths he’s had lately that he can feel; ringing in his ears and vibrating in his bones before it settles in his chest, loosening some of the tightness there.

 

 

He’s home.

 

 

“Now, c’mon,” says Dean. “Let’s go see what’s for dinner before Sammy completely ruins my kitchen.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Castiel stays in Dean’s room that night. Unfortunately, Dean does not.

 

 

Instead, Dean sleeps on the couch and Cas mourns the lack of someone to hold while the nightmare floats behind his eyes even after he’s woken up. But the sheets smell like leather and coriander and Dean, so he presses his face into the pillow and attempts to sleep again.

 

 

\--

 

 

In his dream, Dean isn’t simply a head this time. That’s new; that’s different. Usually they both are, staring vacantly at each other. But, this time, Dean is whole. Castiel is not.

 

 

Dean takes tentative steps forward, until he reaches Cas—or, at least, what’s left of him. His hands cradle Castiel’s cheeks softly, timidly, and his eyes look broken. Castiel wants to reach out and sooth him, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but watch silently as Dean presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, murmuring apologies.

 

 

Why is he apologizing? Castiel doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

 

 

His last thought before he wakes up is that this time, he’s glad Dean is whole again.

 

 

\--

 

 

Sam pulls him aside that morning after breakfast. He raises an eyebrow and Cas nods softly, leading Sam into the library.

 

 

“What can you tell me about this dream?” Sam asks.

 

 

Castiel picks a spot on the wall behind Sam to stare at. It’s an easy question to answer, really, but just telling him the dream doesn’t seem like it’s enough. So he thinks and Sam is quiet, for which Cas is exceedingly grateful.

 

 

“We’re in a room,” he begins, still staring at the wall, “I can never see the background. I don’t know if it’s a motel or a suite, it’s just—it’s somewhere. The walls are patterned with green. It is almost the same color as his eyes—but not quite.

 

 

“We’re both just heads. There’s no pain, just a strange emptiness to it. It almost feels like we’re floating there, staring at each other. Time is passing, but I don’t know how much time. I count the seconds by the blood dripping from our necks.” Castiel pauses, taking a shaky breath.

 

 

“I’m bleeding. I’m human. So is he. Too human. It’s so quiet and the blood hitting the floor seems too loud. It gets louder and louder until it’s all I can hear, roaring in my ears. I wonder if he can hear it, too. I look into his eyes and I know he can. I look at him and I swear, Sam, I swear for a moment, I can see Heaven again.”

 

 

There’s a long pause during which neither of them speak. Castiel can feel the heat of tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Crying had been a new experience. He looked at it as a kind of outlet. All of the emotions pouring into one another until they became so much that there wasn’t enough room for them inside, and they felt so much, that they had to let the world know that they existed.

 

 

Sam breaks the silence. “Castiel, the other person in your dream—who is he?”

 

 

Cas smiles then, a small, sad, broken smile that just barely lifts the corners of his mouth. He meets Sam’s gaze as the first tear rolls out of his eyes and burns a trail down his cheek. It feels like something breaking, some piece of him shifting deep inside him.

 

 

When he replies, his voice is a whisper. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Sam.”

 

 

“Right,” says Sam.

 

 

\--

 

 

They research for a few hours, and Sam finds something online in their third hour. Dean had brought them sandwiches and drinks, taking a long look at their research and an even longer look at Cas before exhaling softly and returning to the living room.

 

 

“It says here that dreaming of being headless, or being with someone who is headless, shows disconnection between your head and heart. It’s supposed to mean that you’re feeling or thinking something, but you aren’t accepting it.”

 

 

They both freeze, and Castiel makes a small noise. He knows exactly what he’s feeling, what it means. He always has.

 

 

“Cas?” Sam asks, concerned.

 

 

“I can’t, Sam. He’s finally got a home; he’s finally whole. I can’t—I can’t take all this away from him.”

 

 

Sam frowns. “Who says you have to?”

 

 

“Sam—” Cas starts.

 

 

“No, Castiel, you aren’t getting it. He loves you. If you would realize that, you’d realize that he needs you just as much as you need him. That ‘profound bond?’ That’s love, Castiel. That’s the best kind of love, where they’re your best friend and then suddenly they’re something else.”

 

 

“Sam, I can’t—” Cas pleads. He can’t hear this. It’s too much to take in, too much to absorb.

 

 

“I knew that kind of love, Castiel. She was my best friend in the world and I didn’t know I was in love with her until one day I looked at her and she was the best thing that ever happened to me. And I lost her. She’s six feet underground and I can’t do anything to fill this fucking hole in my chest, but you can. And you’re choosing to ignore it. You haven’t even said his name since we started this research. I’m sorry, Castiel, but I’ve helped you as much as I can. You need to take it on your own from here.”

 

 

Sam turns and walks out of the library, door slamming with a heavy sound. Cas sinks into one of the leather chairs, feeling tear after tear dripping down his face like ichor.

 

He stops crying after a while, but only because he’s fallen asleep. When he wakes up, there’s a blanket over him and a cup of tea beside him. The blanket smells faintly of leather and coriander and Castiel feels the weight in his heart sink a little lower.

 

 

\--

 

 

Dean takes Cas out to a bar because—apparently—Cas looks like someone sat on his favorite toy and Dean intends to fix it. The bar in itself is small, unassuming.

 

 

They each get a beer and sit, trading glances and sips and awkward, stilted conversations for about an hour.

 

 

“So,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “how’s your research with Sam going?”

 

 

Cas freezes, not of his own volition, and sets down his beer. “It’s—it’s good, I guess.”

 

 

Dean cocks an eyebrow and Cas can feel a flush curling up his neck. “Do you want to get out of here?” he blurts, the question tripping off his tongue.

 

 

Dean’s beer hits the table with a small noise, and he’s looking at Cas with wide eyes, his mouth open in a small ‘o.’

 

 

“I mean,” Castiel hurries to correct himself, the heat in his neck and face growing. “It’s fairly obvious that this is not comfortable for either of us. Maybe we could find a more suitable way to spend the evening?”

 

 

He can still hear the glaring euphemism in his offer, and his shoulders slump.

 

 

Dean inhales, “Uh, sure, I guess. I mean, what did you have in mind?”

 

 

Cas smiles, the barest twist of his lips, and leans forward, “Want to go for a drive?”

 

 

Dean smiles back at him, easy, and it’s like the awkwardness of the evening has evaporated.

 

 

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah.”

 

 

\--

 

 

They end up driving until they find a place where the sky is clear and they can see the stars. Castiel points out constellations and tells Dean their stories: Greek myths of love and tragedy and heroes.

 

 

“You remind me of a few of them,” Castiel notes.

 

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks. “Which ones?”

 

 

They’re sitting on the hood of the impala, close enough that their thighs are touching, and Cas can feel the heat of Dean’s body sinking into his own.

 

 

“One in particular,” Cas says. “Ganymede. He was said to be—” He pauses, hesitating. “—the most beautiful of mortals. Zeus saw him tending his sheep, and promptly carried him off to Mount Olympus to be his cupbearer and lover.”

 

 

Dean pauses before saying, simply, “Lucky dude.”

 

 

Castiel huffs a laugh, “Some might say. But Hera, Zeus’s wife, was jealous. She bid Zeus to rid himself of his lover, lest Ganymede suffer her rage. So Zeus, in desperation, turned Ganymede into a constellation.”

 

 

Castiel points up to the night sky, tracing a single set of stars. “The constellation Aquarius, to be exact.”

 

 

Dean snorts, leaning further into Castiel’s side. “That’s a nice story, Cas.”

 

 

Cas frowns, “How so? I always thought it rather tragic.”

 

 

“I mean, it is, don’t get me wrong,” Dean says, “but it’s a nice sort of message. Even though it would have probably just been easier to get rid of Ganymede altogether, he turns him into stars. It’s like, no matter what, he still wanted some sort of memory of him.”

 

 

The thought makes Cas smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, then Castiel murmurs, “I hadn’t realized before, the extent of human emotions.”

 

 

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. His voice is slower with sleep.

 

 

“You have so many names for what you feel, different ways to express it, but it goes beyond just happy, or mad, or grieving. There’s so much more than I ever thought.”

 

 

Dean is silent, and Castiel continues. “Did you know that the Russian language has a word for a sadness you can’t express? But English doesn’t. I don’t think any other language does.”

 

 

“We do,” Dean says. “We say ‘I’m really fucking sad’.”

 

 

Castiel snorts, and—unthinking—shifts closer to Dean and wraps an arm around him, so as to pull him closer in his tiredness.

 

 

If Dean has any complaints, he doesn’t express them, choosing simply to burrow into Castiel’s side, a quiet exhale slipping from his lips.

 

 

“Is there a word for feeling everything at once?” Castiel asks suddenly, “Feeling anger and sadness and loss and gain and happiness and terrible and flying?” He pauses, trying to steady his thoughts.

 

 

“Is there a word for that feeling that you get when you’re climbing, up and up and you know that once you reach the top, you’re going to fall.  You can’t stop what’s coming, and you aren’t sure if you want to. So you keep climbing and climbing and sometimes it hurts, but you don’t stop. And suddenly the fall doesn’t seem frightening anymore, and you want to let go. You want to let go and let the inevitable happen, because it doesn’t seem bad or scary at all. Falling sounds good, then—is there a word for that?”

 

Dean sits up, looking at Cas oddly.

 

 

He is silent, contemplating the question silently for a moment before saying, “Love.”

 

 

Cas nods, heart thick in his throat. He moves closer, as if he’s studying the intricacies of Dean’s face—which, in a way, he is. Then, in the thick, heavy silence, under the constellation Aquarius, with the word love on his lips and something loosening inside him, Castiel kisses Dean Winchester.

 

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, when they part, “me, too.”

 

 

\--

 

 

The ride home is silent. But Dean has his hand tangled with Cas’ on the console, so Castiel thinks that it is not the bad kind of silence.

 

 

All of the lights are off when they get back to the bunker, so Castiel pushes Dean up against the door and kisses him again in the foyer. Dean melts into him, hands clutching at his hair. There’s a new feeling burning low in his gut and he moves impossibly closer, trying to fill the nonexistent space.

 

 

“Cas,” Dean says more than a little breathlessly when Castiel’s mouth moves from his lips to his neck, trailing burning kisses along his skin, “Cas.”

 

 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asks, pausing in his ministrations.

 

 

Dean huffs an annoyed noise, tugging Cas’ face back up to his, muttering “bed,” against his lips.

 

 

“If you insist,” Castiel replies.

 

 

They eventually make it to the bed, stopping several times to explore briefly with hands and mouths, never separating more than a few inches from each other.

 

It is a good thing Sam is asleep.

 

 

Castiel shuts the door of Dean’s room behind him with his foot, stepping towards Dean while Dean steps back further into the room until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and his back hits the bed with a bounce.

 

 

Dean watches with wide eyes as Castiel sheds his shirt and jeans. He quirks an eyebrow at Dean and stifles a laugh—but not the smile—as Dean hurries to rid himself of the clothing in a flurry of limbs.

 

 

“Dean,” Castiel says, feeling a peculiar warmth in his chest when Dean automatically stops, looking up at him confusedly. “Please,” Castiel continues, moving forward to the bed and settling himself over Dean, mouthing at the shell of his ear, “allow me.”

 

 

Dean nods quickly, pulling Cas into a searing kiss. His fingers tremble as they lift Dean’s shirt. The kiss breaks just long enough for Castiel to pull the fabric over Dean’s head, but resumes as his hands explore Dean’s chest.

 

 

“So beautiful,” Cas murmurs as he presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s jaw.

 

 

Dean’s face colors. “Look who’s talking.”

 

 

Castiel snorts, trailing kisses down Dean’s chest, talking while he does. “You don’t see what I do, Dean. You are so beautiful, so perfect. More than anything, I wish you could see that.” He pauses when he reaches the waistband of Dean’s jeans and looks up.

 

 

Dean is staring at him, breath held in some kind of shock. Castiel doesn’t break eye contact as he unbuttons Dean’s pants, quickly shoving them out of the way. Dean tries to help in some way, but Castiel holds a stilling hand on his hip.

 

 

“Please, Dean. Let me do this for you.”

 

 

Dean nods, swallowing hard. Castiel smiles, grateful and pulls off the offending jeans as quickly as possible. He moves back up, covering Dean’s body with his own. They’re both only in briefs, but Cas sighs in relief at the sheer amount of skin to skin contact. He brushes Dean’s nose with his own, eyes half lidded. Dean shifts up to meet him, pressing small kisses to Castiel’s mouth and jaw.

 

 

“So perfect, Dean,” Castiel breathes against Dean’s mouth, nipping at his bottom lip, “so perfect for me.”

 

 

“Cas,” Dean gasps, crushing his lips into Castiel’s. His hands are fisted in Cas’ hair so hard it almost hurts, but Cas can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he licks his way back into Dean’s mouth and when Dean moans, the vibrations almost short circuit his brain.

 

 

They don’t go any further than that, at least not tonight. Instead, Dean burrows his way against Castiel’s chest. Dean is holding him so tightly Castiel thinks he can feel some of his broken pieces finding their way back together inside him. Their legs are tangled and they’re only half underneath the heavy duvet. They swap sleepy kisses, whisper meaningless phrases against each other’s skin and when Dean finally falls asleep, it’s with a quiet exhale of ‘I love you.’

 

 

Castiel presses a warm kiss to Dean’s forehead and settles himself in for the night. “I love you, too, Dean.”

 

 

\--

 

Cas dreams that night, of a warm meadow, dressed in golden sunlight. He’s lying on his side, and Dean is lying next to him. They’re staring at each other, and Dean’s head is wreathed in flowers. Castiel reaches out to trace them. Lady’s Mantle, Evening Primrose, white Asters. He can feel the weight of flowers woven into his own hair and knows they are the same.

 

There’s a single sunflower sprouting above their heads in full bloom, and Castiel likes the way the yellow and white flowers look paired with the green of Dean’s eyes.

 

Dean’s fingers tangle with his own and Castiel smiles.

 

Fin.

 

\--

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: The flowers in Dean and Castiel’s hair in the last dream have particular meaning, similar to the meaning in the headless-ness of the first recurring dream. Evening Primrose means love, protection, and hunting. The Lady’s Mantle means comforting love and the white Asters means love and contentment. The sunflower growing between and above them means adoration.
> 
> on tumblr @cptnkirrk


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